


Lord of the Ricks: Return of the Morty

by BasilJack



Category: Rick and Morty, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempt at writing like Tolkien with Rick and Morty, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Homage, Humor, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Seriously though a good bit of swearing, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilJack/pseuds/BasilJack
Summary: Rick and Morty go blow off some steam at Helm's Deep.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Lord of the Ricks: Return of the Morty

“The answer is no, Morty.” Rick was sitting on the couch watching what appeared to be an episode of “Survivor” from a dimension of Sloth people.

“Damn it, Rick! It’s my turn! I’ve got a full card. You have to take me!”

Rick ground his teeth. “I’ve had a rough couple of days,  _ Morty _ .” He said Morty’s name like it was a swear word and was placing particular emphasis on every syllable. “So I’m taking a day for myself to sit back and relax.”

“And get drunk.”

“Yeah, that too.” Rick took a long pull of his beer.

“Y-you know, Rick, that’s what I want to do, too. I-I-I wanna relax, Rick, and,” Morty balled up his fists and stamped his foot, “and, for me, th-that means...”

“Lord of the Rings, Morty? Really?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re a-a… a fuckin’ nerd, Morty! Plus, why would you even want to go there? Tolkien wraps it all up in a nice neat little package! Anything you do is just gonna, y-you know, wreck it.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I care about art, Morty! Real art, not whatever that magic-boarding-school-chosen one bullshit you love is.”

“Hey man, leave Harry Potter out of this.”

“Yeah! Harry Potter! That pile of crap. Let's go there instead, you can fuck that shit up to your heart’s content.”

“Maybe for my next punch card, Rick…”

“Next punch card?” Rick was incredulous. “Morty, what makes you so sure there’s gonna be a next punch card? As far as >BRAAAP<, as far as Morties go, y-you’re getting pretty damn annoying. We might just have an ‘accident’ on our next adventure. I can always get another Morty.” Rick put scare quotes around the word accident while staring pointedly at Morty.

“First off, Rick, we both know you’re not gonna replace me. I’ve done my research, I’m an “S” tier Morty. “S+” on a good day. Second, I need this, Rick. You were right, this has been a shitty week. Just, gear us up with, like, some magical nonsense armor, give us glowy swords and lets go fuck shit up!”

“How the hell do you know you’re a decent Morty? Have you been reading my blog?”

“I checked the Citadel of Ricks online. They have auctions.”

“Wait, you did what? Morty, those guys hate me… I-I… I blew ‘em up, Morty! That’s bound to piss off just about anyone, but especially a bunch of shittier versions of me! What were you thinking?”

Morty kicked back onto the couch, crossed his legs on the coffee table, and put his hands behind his head. “Look, man, it’s no big deal. I posed as a doofus Rick, so there’s no way anybody looks twice. I was just window shopping anyway.”

Rick leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief. “Damn, Morty, that’s actually pretty smart. I’m impressed.”

“What can I say? I’m an S tier Morty.”

“What’s with you and medieval warzones, anyway?”

“Look, man, I got a lot of built up aggression, alright? I need to go kill some orcs, or goblins, or trolls or, whatever.”

“Why can’t we go into like, World of Warcraft or something, then?”

Morty closed his eyes and shook his head. “Immersion, Rick. I-I don’t want to run into some asshole named ‘dickbutt69’ jumping up and down in the market... And the faction system in that game is garbage. If we do meet him, I wanna be able to kill him. ”

“I mean, I could arrange that.”

Morty looked up at the ceiling. “Nah, I want what I want. It’s cool. We can go on Monday.”

Rick turned off the television. “Counter offer, Morty. Lets go right now.”

Morty cocked an eyebrow and looked askance at Rick. “Didn’t you wanna watch Slothvivor and get drunk?”

Rick shrugged, “Eh, I’m good. The episodes are like 8 hours long anyway, and I can get drunk in Middle Earth. Lets go to the garage and gear up.”

In a moment the two were fully armed and armored. Rick pulled out his portal gun and started fiddling with it. “One last thing before we go in there. Make sure you’ve got your shit together, Morty. Tolkien doesn’t fuck around.”

Morty was giving his sword a practice swing. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ve seen the movies.”

“The fuck!? Movies? Goddamnit Morty, can you even read?”

“I read, Rick!”

“Harry Potter doesn’t count. That whole series is written at a grade school level.”

“Shut up, Rick! It’s good! It’s got heart... an-an-and good characters, y’know... and a good message!”

“What message? That it’s fine to be gay as long as you’re invisible?”

“Hey, Dumbledore is gay!”

“That’s my point, Morty! Where in the series does it say that? When in 4,000 plus pages does that come up? Declaring a character gay, post hoc, so you can claim inclusion in your stories is like claiming your villain’s snake is actually a shape changed asian lady. ‘Ooooh, look, I have people of color.’”

“Leave J.K. Rowling alone.”

“Not gonna happen, Morty. She’s a TERF, and she treats minorities as props. Two words, Morty. Cho Chang.”

“Oh, right, like you’re some crusader for social justice.”

“I’m not. But I also don’t parade around like I am one, so…”

“Fine, I get it. Jeez. Chill already.”

“Alright, we’re good to go.” Rick finished fiddling with his portal gun and fired. “We just gotta steer clear of Gandalf.”

“Why’s that.”

“I dicked around in there back in the late seventies. He might recognize me.”

  
  


It was together that grandfather and grandson stepped out from behind a fold in the cliff to mingle into the press of Helm’s Deep’s defending garrison. The light of the sun dimmed as it set and while the sheer stone on either side of the valley eclipsed the horizon, the red of dusk lit the roiling clouds red as blood for a few brief minutes. In that last lingering light of the day, the two wanderers took in their surroundings, finding that they were given no second’s notice nor searching glance by the surrounding rabble.

Rick was far from the oldest man there, nor was Morty the youngest who drew steel, but rare was the sight of a fighter in his prime. All around them the men of the Mark were either too old or too young, but still gearing for battle with what little they had. Ill fitting helmets and armor, rusty, chipped swords, and battered, sun-bleached shields were all in great supply. Morty and his grandfather would have fit well into this tapestry of would be warriors even with their shining accoutrements, but for the simple fact that fear was not etched upon their faces. In truth, while their attire was well researched and of the finest quality, it was their bearing that set the two apart from the rest. Tall and proud, they held themselves as warriors, and looked toward the coming conflict without a trace of anxiety.

It was that fact of their presence which began drawing them no small measure of attention, and Morty, suddenly aware that a great many eyes were upon him drew himself up proudly. Jutting elbows and shoulders, and youthful demeanour undermined him, however, such that his bravado came across as insincere.

“All right, everybody! Lets kill some orcs!”

“Morty, read the room,” Rick whispered to him.

“Wha-”

“This is Helm’s Deep, Morty. Shit’s about to get real. Like, really-real. These people are all about to die.”

Morty, abashed, gazed about him, and saw with certainty, the gut-wrenching dread that plagued these old men and young boys. These were not the fighting men of the Mark, the fabled Rohirrim, the Riders of Rohan. These were children and old men, grappling with the certainty that this night would spell their doom.

“Why are they fighting, then,” asked Morty, perplexed.

Rick belched. “They’ve got no choice, Morty. Everything they have. All their friends, and family, whatever food and sentimental treasures they could scramble together before the orcs burned their homes to the ground…” another belch. “They’re all back in there.” Rick gestured back beyond the Hornburg to where the cliffs of the valley narrowed to a point. There Morty saw the mouth of a cave, a cleft in the rock about which gathered a great many men and horses. Wagons and carts were disappearing into the darkness below, along with women, children, and any who could not fight this night. More men of Rohan were there too, tearing themselves away from family, wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters. They broke from the embraces of their loved ones, for what was sure to be the last time, and turned to walk into the gaping maw of fate.

Beyond the steep walls of the cliff, the sun set in earnest, and the red light of the valley faded to a grim shadowed darkness. The looming clouds above seemed to press in closer, and a call was raised among the defenders.  
“Time to get going, Morty. It’s starting.”

Morty leaned in close to his grandfather. “Hey, look, this seems pretty serious. I was hoping for something a little more lighthearted, y’know?”

“Oof, Morty, you’re gonna abandon these people now?” Rick shook his head, “that’s heartless. Well, alright, just say the word and I’ll send you back. You can go home whenever.”

“Wait, you’re staying?”

“Yeah, Morty. Like you said, it’s been a crap week. I’m gonna blow off some steam. Plus, you know, this is one we can feel good about.”

“I guess.” Morty’s tone was far from certain.

“Hey, we’re here now, right? Let’s make the most of it. We’ll hop up on the deeping wall, there, and we’ll kick ass until they blow up the wall, then we’ll scamper back into the Hornburg…”

“What’s the Hornburg?”

“Th- really? It’s the fucking castle, Morty. The big castle thing right there! Jeez. I keep forgetting that you don’t know anything.”

“Settle down, Rick. You don’t gotta bite my head off because I don’t speak super-nerd or whatever.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Super-n... Fine! whatever. Then we scamper back t-to the Hornburg, and ride out with them at dawn.”

“Jesus, Rick! We’re gonna be here all night?”

“You said you wanted to blow off some steam, right?”

“I did.”

“Well, for the next ten hours you’ll have all the orcs you can kill delivered right to your front door. Besides, it’s still morning back home, so it’s more like we’re up all day. We’ll be back for a late dinner.”

“I dunno, Rick…”

“You don’t know? Are you serious right now?” Rick made a fist and looked up at the sky. Lightning flitted across the blackness, and for a moment the night was bright as the day. Like an angry sea, tempest tossed and wild, the clouds billowed like waves in a storm, so low that Morty felt like he could reach out and touch them. “You’re gonna make friends in this battle, Morty! You’re gonna struggle to keep them alive, probably in vain! We’re gonna lose people we care about! Important people, Morty, but we aren’t gonna have time to grieve for them, because we’ll be too busy with the slaughter!” Rick was shouting by now, climbing the stairs to the deeping wall, and Morty was not the only one listening. “And it doesn’t matter how many of them there are! We’re gonna throw them back, Morty! Over and over! If it takes all night!”

“Yeah!” Morty did not speak alone. The defenders of Helm’s Deep nearest to them were listening as they moved toward their posts on the Deeping Wall, and they raised a tentative cheer along with Morty. It was a small thing, thin and strained and snapped up by the sounds of marching feet, but the hope that had borne it was still there.

Rick’s eyes were wild, a manic thread of drool swinging from his mouth. “W-w-we’re gonna hold these walls! We’re gonna hold ‘em all night if we have to! For a hundred nights, an-and a hundred years! Helm’s Deep, Morty! A hundred years Helm’s Deep!”

The assembly again raised their voices in meek approval, and Rick dropped his to be heard only by his grandson. “Quick, Morty! Draw your sword.”

“Uh, Okay.”

“Now hold it up! Shout, Morty! Shout something about Rohan!”

“Rohan!” Morty’s voice cracked and he looked out at the faces of the men and boys who would stand on the wall with him, faces hungry for something, anything to believe in, and so, Morty gave it to them.

“It’s not enough that we throw them back! It’s not enough that each of you live through the night! It won’t be enough until we’ve run down and killed every last orc in that valley! Do you want to save Rohan?”

A clamor of assent met his ears.

“Do you want to save your families?”

Again, they cheered.

“Do you want to watch your children grow old in peace? Do you want to die, fat and happy in your beds back home?”

The crowd roared.

“Layin’ it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“Jealous,” Morty dropped as an aside before continuing. “Then live! Live through the night! Live to drive these monsters from our lands! For Rohan!”

As one the crowd’s voices mingled as one, repeating the boy’s call, and together they gained the summit of the wall and looked out onto the enemy they faced. In the distance, innumerable campfires had been lit, and lines of torches could be seen like great snakes of fire moving towards them up the valley.

A dike cut across the entirety of the gorge, but for a breach where the stream cut through it. There, the torches seemed to stop for a time, and Morty swore he heard the distant sounds of combat. Several minutes later the Hornburg’s gates were thrown open, and from their vantage point on the deeping wall, Rick and Morty saw the last stragglers of the rear guard enter Helm’s Deep after bloodying the nose of Saruman’s horde at the dike. The gates were sealed now, for no more friends moved outside of them, and the orcs, it seems, had doused their torches.

The night grew ever darker, and distant lightning illuminated the low, sinister clouds which hung overhead. For Morty it seemed like hours passed, and perhaps they did, before their enemy revealed itself. It was around midnight when lightning struck close enough to illuminate the entirety of the Deeping Coomb, and the castle’s defenders beheld Saruman’s army.

Out in the darkness, the valley floor was moving, like stalks of corn blowing on the wind. Another flash of lightning split the skies, and the meager force that defended Helm’s Deep saw the enemy they faced. Their numbers filled the valley from cliff to cliff. They trampled the grass to mud, and like the sea, their number seemed to stretch past the very horizon. Morty knew then the fear in the hearts of his fellow men.

“Oh, jeez…”

“Here we go, Morty! Buckle up!”

Horns blared among the swarm and it surged forward. Arrows clattered in their midst, and all along the Deeping Wall the defenders laid low, waiting for the moment to respond. Ladders slapped onto the wall all along its length, and the attacking throng surged up them.

“For Rohan!” Rick’s voice rang out, loud and clear, and it seemed he had judged the moment perfectly. All along the walls and into the Hornburg similar calls to battle rang out, and as one, the men of the Mark responded, letting fly with arrow, spear, and stone.

A great cry went up from the men on the wall, and Morty rose to meet the first foul creature who launched himself over the crenelations. The Uruk-hai warrior met morty’s sword with his own, and then lashed out with a vicious backhand. The boy to Morty’s right crumpled into the stone with a crash, sword knocked free from his hand. Morty wasted no time. The orc was twice his size, and he shoved Morty’s blade to the side, seeking to disarm him.

Morty, however, veteran of half a hundred battles, allowed the force of his opponent to drive him around, and in a whirlwind slice, he spun, striking his enemy high on his opposite thigh. In another two movements it was done, and the beast lay slain at his feet. Morty reached out his hand and helped up the boy who had been struck down, a fresh bruise swelling above one of his fearful wide blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” Morty asked, pulling the boy to his feet. “What’s your name?”

“Haleth, Lord. Son of Hama,” he stammered.

“Haleth,” nodded Morty. “Good. Stay with me.” Another orc came over the wall, and Haleth, together with morty laid the fiend out in swift order.

“I will, Lord.”

At Morty’s side, Haleth proved himself a true warrior of the Mark, despite his age. No sooner did orc feet reach the ramparts at the end of the Deeping Wall than a flurry of blade and fury descended upon them. Together they pulled an orc from Haleth’s uncle, Goddard, the blade an inch from his neck. Then, with the help of Goddard, they pushed over a ladder, casting its climbers backwards into the surging mass of teeming metal and flesh.

Morty’s world condensed to the wall, the parapet behind him, and the fighters on either side. If there was a world outside of the ten feet immediately around him, he had no knowledge of it. All that mattered to him was his sword, his enemy, and his allies. His grandfather fought nearby, but Morty could not have told you where, or in what fashion. He was utterly consumed with his task. Hold the wall. Protect his men. Survive.

The ladder they had cast down was replaced, and again they fought off their attackers, throwing it off the wall. But more ladders were reaching the wall, as were grapplers, and it seemed that for each avenue of attack the beleaguered defenders removed, two more were thrown up in its place. Soon they were too busy fighting to do anything about the ropes and ladders that now seemed to cover every inch of the deeping wall.

Still, the fight was theirs, and the defenders held. Many times Morty ripped his newfound friends out of the gaping jaws of death. Even so, the attackers persisted, like wave after wave of the rising tide, and somewhere behind the din of battle, Morty knew that they could not hold forever. His comrades had begun to fall around him, but Morty had kept Haleth and Goddard alive through the chaos. There was no respite, and no rest for the men in that place, and Morty felt the weight of his sword growing exponentially as time dragged on. Still, the enemy showed no signs of stopping.

Then there was a great crash, and the ground shook hard enough to drive Morty to his knees. A cloud of dust, dirt, and rock rose into the air down the wall from where he stood and Morty knew that the deeping wall had been breached. With a quick glance back over his shoulder, to call the retreat, he saw too late Goddard, beset on two sides by orcs who had gained the wall. Haleth saw it too, and threw himself to aid his embattled uncle, but it was all for naught. 

Too late Haleth arrived, and the orcs came forward to meet him, stepping over his fallen kinsman. In a blind fury, Haleth smote one, and Morty the other. Haleth fell to his knees over the last of his family and wailed. Morty seized the young boy and pulled him roughly to his feet, as Rick’s voice rang out over the din. “Fall back to the Hornburg! The Deeping Wall has been breached! Back to safety!”  
“Uncle!” shrieked the boy, before rounding on Morty. “We can’t leave him! I won’t leave him!”

“You can’t do anything for him now. Stay with me, Haleth! We need to fight our way back to the Hornburg, you heard Rick!”

“No! I’ll stand here and die with him!”

Morty slapped the younger boy. “Shut up! You think that’s what Goddard would want?”

Haleth stared back at Morty, a blank look on his tear streaked face.

“Hell no! Now you’re gonna live, damnit, and to do that, I need you to fight with me, Haleth!”  
The blonde boy nodded.

“Then lets go!”

Together the two leapt down the stairs to the ground where Rick was already leading a party of the remaining defenders, trying to cut their way through the bulge of orcs who had surged through the hole in the Deeping Wall. Haleth and Morty joined the fray, lashing out with renewed fervor, and joined by the desperate men and boys who had fought with them these many hours, they cut their way through the teeming mass of orc flesh.

In the midst of the carnage, Morty found himself face to face with a short, stout bearded warrior, wielding a great axe with two hands. Stunned, Morty let his blade fall, and the dwarf lashed out with his axe, separating an oncoming orc’s head from his shoulders.

“Watch yourself, there manling! Battles are dangerous places.”

“Are you-” Morty stammered.  
“Yu-uuuuuuurp. That’s Gimli. Thanks for covering us!”

“Aye, old timer. Get you and your men to safety.” The dwarf then turned and bellowed to his companions, “the Uruks are too many! Those of you who wish to stay with me, hold the rear! Back to the caves! Hold together! Baruk Kazad!”

“I’m younger than you, asshole,” Rick muttered, then shouted, “To me! To the Hornburg! All of you who aren’t with the dwarf!”

Rick and Morty, along with two dozen survivors made to cross the distance between themselves and the stairs up to the Hornburg. Their path was littered with fleeing survivors and pursuing Uruk-hai come down off the walls and bringing battle with them to the fortress floor. More orcs were pouring down off of the Deeping Wall, and soon they were outnumbered, fighting a losing battle toward safety.

It was then that Haleth stumbled and fell. Morty grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet, but the boy would not move. With slow horror, Morty’s eyes fell on a thick arrow with black fletchings erupting out of the boy’s back, between his shoulder blades. With a roar of bestial rage, Morty stood over his friend’s broken body, laying out every orc who dared engage him.

“Morty! W-w-we gotta go. We’re the last ones, Morty! Everyone else is either dead or going up the stairs!”

“But-”

“I know, Morty. I know. But you gotta get it together! For Holly!”

“Haleth!”

“That’s what I said, Morty! Now move!”

The two waded through a sea of enemies toward the stairs to the Hornburg, fighting with everything they had, and just when it seemed that they would be overwhelmed, a timely arrow ended a foe to Rick’s left, and Morty’s two opponents were struck down by a tall man with tangled dark hair, streaked with gray.

“You and your boy get to safety, old man.”

“Fuck you, Aragorn. I’m younger than you are.”  
The Dunedain chanced a glance at Rick. “You know me?”

“Of course I do. Anyway, thanks for the bailout.” Rick had taken the arrow from the falling orc and used it to slay another. Keeping a hold of it, he and Morty ran past Aragorn, and up the stairs, past an elven archer with long golden hair and a green cloak.

“I think this is yours,” said Rick, handing Legolas the arrow.

“You have my thanks, Firyalda.” Legolas inclined his head into a swift, diminutive bow.

“Y-y-you’re a little shit, Legolas! You’re, like, three thousand years old. Where do you get off calling me old?”

“Rick, chill,” Morty tried to calm his grandfather, but the elf was no longer paying them any mind. He set the arrow Rick had brought him onto his string and drew back his bow, scanning for a target. “All who can have now got safe within, Aragorn! Come back!”

Morty pulled Rick up the stairs, “Lets get inside, Rick.”

“All three of those bastards called me old, Morty! All three of them! They’re all older than I am. Especially that blonde fairy.”

“Not cool, Rick!”

“What? He’s an elf. That makes him one of the fae, Morty… you know, fairies.”

“Well, that’s not what I thought you meant.”

“Who gives a shit what you thought. That son of a bitch is basically three thousand years old, and he has the gall to call me old? New pitch, kiddo, lets beat up the fellowship!”

“No way! Y-y-you’ve got me all sucked into this story now Rick, and suddenly you- you wanna just up and change tacks? Not happening!”

“Okay, okay, jeez, no need to bite my head off.”

“And maybe they wouldn’t all call you old if you took better care of yourself. You ever think of that?”

“Good point Morty. I’d better stop drinking and start eating healthy. I’m giving up all these crazy, wacky adventures, too, a-a-and I’m gonna start moisturizing.”

Morty was too exhausted to have any sense of his grandpa’s sarcasm. “Really?”

“Of course not, you snot nosed little shit.” Rick settled down onto a stair and pulled out a rag, wiping first his face and then his blade. “We’ve got a quick breather before this shit jumps off again, Morty. Honestly, we could go home. I’m good here.”

“No way in hell we’re going home now, Rick.”

“Aww, do you wanna go avenge your friend Hayley?”

“It’s Haleth!”

“That’s what I said.”

With that, Rick and Morty took to the outer wall of the Hornburg. The ground trembled, and the walls shook, and tongues of fire leapt up from below, signaling that the armies of Orthanc continued using their blasting powder in hopes of breaching the great walls, but it was to no avail. The ancient stone of the Hornburg stood strong against the sorceries of Saruman, and the orcs were forced to rely on ladders and grappling hooks. Still, they gained the wall a great many times, and when they did, Rick and Morty ran to that place, wreaking havoc on their foe, and casting down their banners. Aragorn and Legolas were there too, and though his sword was swift, Morty was enawed by Andruil in Aragorn’s hands, for the blade seemed to cut through the very fabric of the world, so expertly was it wielded. Legolas, too, was like a storm of arrows, firing into even the most chaotic melees, and ever did his arrows find their mark.

Suddenly, after repelling yet another attack over the great gate, Aragorn held up his hand, and silence fell. Rick and Morty looked to the sky to see that light was returning to the east.

Outside the gate, the orcs were taunting Aragorn. “Come down! Come down!” they cried. “If you wish to speak to us, come down! Bring out your king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai. We will fetch him from his hole, if he does not come. Bring out your skulking king!”

Aragorn answered them, but Rick and Morty paid him little mind, instead climbing down from the wall.

“You want to find some horses and ride out with the King at dawn?” Rick asked.

“You’re goddamn right I do.”

Dressed as they were, in shining mail, stained with the blood of countless enemies, horses whose masters had not survived the night were quickly supplied to them. As they climbed into their saddles a great thundering crash reverberated through the ground, and they saw from their vantage point the front gate of the Hornburg dashed to splinters by the enemy’s engines of war.

The orcs surged through the gap, like a dread tide, when the horn of Helm sounded. Its cry rang off of the walls of the Deeping Coomb, and reverberated, blast after blast, until it seemed as though it was not a single horn sounding, but a great many of a mighty host.

Aragorn ran up and leapt onto his horse’s back, while all around them riders were raising their voices. “Helm! Helm!” the Riders shouted. “Helm is arisen and comes back to war. Helm for Theoden King!”

“Forth Eorlingas!” With a cry, Theoden raised his spear to the heavens, and charged, golden armor on horse of white. Aragorn spurred alongside him, and so too all the riders in that place. The sounding of the horn of Helm rang from the king’s tower and off the steep walls of the cliff, and light sprang into the sky.

With a terrible cry the riders clove into the orcs, and every man in the Hornburg who could still draw steel did so, sallying forth across the causeway, down into the heart of the attacking host. Rick and Morty were among them, blades dancing and flashing as if in a song, and their enemies fled before them. The company of the king drove into their enemy with a vengeance, and as the foe fled before them, the host of Orthanc found it’s path blocked by a forest that had sprung up overnight. The eastern wall of the canyon was sheer, and provided no escape, so, terrified, the orcs turned to the western ridge, where a lone rider in white stood astride his horse.

“‘Behold the White Rider!” cried Aragorn. “Gandalf is come again!”

For the rider was Gandalf, and there beside him came a man with a red shield, and lifting his horn to his lips, he sounded a call. The horn of Helm, deep in the Hornburg, answered, and with a cry, over a thousand men on foot charged down the ridge with Gandalf in their midst. Morning sun gleaming off of spear, and axe, and sword, the men of the Mark drove their enemy before them. So too, then. did the King’s men charge, and the orcs, facing death on all sides fled into the darkness of the trees, wailing and shrieking. None would ever leave that forest again.

“Time to go, Morty. Can’t risk Gandalf catching wind that I’m here.”

Morty grinned in the light of the new day. “You’re afraid of Gandalf?”

“No way. Look, last time I was here, he and I went on a bit of a bender. I can’t distract him this time. He’s got important work to do.”

Morty nodded. “You are a bad influence.”

The survivors of Helm’s Deep would speak of it for years to come, and of the mysterious old man and young boy who had appeared on the eve of battle, fought so valiantly, and disappeared so swiftly thereafter. Of the songs written of that day, the best all sang of Eorl the Young and Aldor the Old, ancient kings of Rohan, who had returned for one night to save the Westfold from its enemies.


End file.
